


Heartfelt

by thorduna



Series: Prompt fills [14]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Gift Giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor shops for Frigga on Midgard.</p>
<p>Written for Thor Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartfelt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysticmjolnir (empressmaude)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressmaude/gifts).



He has to smile, watching the mortals bustling about. The place itself, a shopping mall, he was told, may look very different from the sprawling markets he is used to from Asgard, or indeed from the lone, obscure shops that one can find on almost any realm, but the energy is familiar. There is haste and there is greed, but there is also excitement and fun.

 

He chooses to focus on the latter and slowly starts making his way through the shiny, brightly coloured corridors lined by wide glass windows that showcase variety of merchandise. Thor would find it interesting to merely browse in order to learn more about the realm he's grown so fond of, but today he has a goal.

 

His mother has expressed her interest in what it is that draws Thor to this place and while he took quite a while of their shared time to explain, in the end it felt insufficient and so he decided to seek help in the form of something more tangible. Or rather, several somethings. He does not yet know what gift he intends to bring to Frigga, but he thinks the best course of action would be to get more than one.

 

Midgard is, first and foremost, a very diverse realm. Thor knows that maybe he should travel various parts of it, but sadly, he just doesn't have the time. As it is, with all his responsibilities as an Avenger, he can spare the afternoon he has to himself to browse this large building and its many shops and collect what he likes and hopes that his mother will appreciate.

 

There is a large number of windows that showcase clothing and it takes him a while to navigate those in order to find something suitable. He locates a shop that sells scarves and hats and asks to browse the former, mostly the silken ones.

 

A beautiful, green and purple one catches his eye. It looks like a peacock's tail, shimmery and full of lovely gradients. It feels so soft to his rough fingers and he wastes no time buying it.

 

Pleased, he goes on. The shop that beckons him next is tiny compared to the others, but no less attractive for it – all it sells is chocolate. Thor grins and enters. There are collections of tiny bon-bons or large bars, all with different tastes and amounts of sweetness. The shop-keeper is very pleasant (he thinks she recognizes him, but is professional and doesn't say so) and lets him taste almost everything, until he chooses to purchase a large basket of milk chocolate bon-bons and bars of blueberry, orange and almond flavoured dark chocolate.

 

Next, his steps take him to a shop that sells clothing again, but this time, it appears that there is everything one might think of, including cheap jewellery and bags – purses, he reads – of a kind he can't envision his mother using, but thinks they might amuse her anyway. The music is loud and rowdy in this particular shop, but he is not deterred, rather it spurns him on.

 

He well knows just how his mother is in unguarded moments, so carefree and young. If he can bring an impish smile to her face with a gift meant for mortal youngsters, then he will do just that. He buys a pair of leather and lace gloves and earrings in the shape of ice-cream cones, smiling to himself.

 

His trouble-making mood stays with him and he outright chuckles when he sees a speciality liquor shop. One's experience of a realm is never full unless there is tasting of their alcohol done, no? He steps into the pleasantly smelling room – the scent is rather of wood than of spirits – and once again relies on the help of the attendant. There's no tasting offered here, but he buys a bottle of some sort of a cream liquor that the man says is sweet and thick and smooth, not terribly strong, and then another one, called _tequila_ , that apparently is best suited for drinking with oranges and cinnamon. Thor is already familiar with both the fruit and the spice and dutifully goes to a grocer next door to purchase both.

 

That place is sadly too full and loud even for him and he grits his teeth as he trudges through the masses and then waits in line. There is one thing though that always reminds him of why he should persist and that is his mother's enjoyment of sweet and spicy things and the blush on her cheeks when she's drunk too much wine. When he and Loki were young, those evenings were the most delightful and educative. They learned things that seemed so forbidden to them. Stories from their mother's youth, gossip from other realms... it wasn't until he was much older that he realized she probably never said anything she didn't want to share anyway. It was merely a game. He didn't know if that made him sad or not.

 

Still, he gets beautiful ripe oranges and cinnamon sticks, knowing she likes to grind the spices herself.

 

The book store is where he heads next, without any doubt at all. The purchase he makes is _massive_ because he truly lets himself go. Histories, art books, travelling journals, novels from all kinds of authors and various genres... he manages to keep a straight face as the clerk's eyes go wide when he keeps coming with armfuls of books.

 

“I hope this is not a problem,” he says. “I am stocking up for my mother.”

 

“Not at all,” the clerk gulps. “Cash or credit?”

 

Thor pulls out the plastic card issued in his name, full of imaginary monetary reward for his actions as an Avenger. In many ways, it's only the intangibility of the whole thing that makes him accept it.

 

The weight of the books poses no problem for him, but they do take up a lot of space and he slowly makes his way through the mall with bulging bags on each side. He is starting to attract attention and he knows this trip is coming to an end. Still, there is something prompting him to get _more_.

 

In the end, the answer seems obvious. There is a flower shop, full of both cut and potted plants. It doesn't take him even a second to decide for a potted one. He ponders about his choice of those anyway, somehow uncertain about the colourful, blooming ones. It seems too straight-forward.

 

“Let me guess, first time plant owner?”

 

He turns to the shop-keeper and smiles indulgently. She is young and bright eyed, with wheat coloured hair, just like Frigga has.

 

“I'm simply trying to pick something steady.”

 

“How about a cactus, then? They are cute, I think.”

 

She shows him the plethora of prickly green bulges and he smiles. They are certainly peculiar enough. As she explains that they take almost no effort, he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Of course he looks like can't even water a plant more than twice, thrice a year. He doesn't go out of his way to correct her and instead buys a tiny cactus in a bright red pot.

 

And then just like that, he knows he is done. It's time to go.

 

He makes sure all his purchases are safely bagged and walks out, making his way through the busy streets until the edge of Central Park appears in front of him. He finds a secluded space once he is there and tilts his head towards the sky.

 

“Heimdall, please.”

 

It only takes seconds and the skies open, taking him in. His ears roar but his heart is calm.

 

He exchanges greeting with the gate-keeper and Heimdall eyes the many bags he is carrying.

 

“For mother,” Thor explains and Heimdall nods, face devoid of any expression.

 

Thor doesn't mind walking the length of the Bifrost. Once the sea gives way to ground underneath the rainbow bridge, he looks for a turn right, weaving his way through the streets. The houses grow smaller and farther in between until he comes to a long stretch of a beach. He knows that if he turns, he will see a large overlook, almost a promenade that lines the far part of the beach. But it is not the city that interests him, nor the memories of what happened there.

 

Instead, he walks to the edge of the water and sets the plastic, ruffling bags down and slowly starts to unload their contents, speaking quietly to explain their purpose and origin. Shortly after, he has a neat pile readied on the shore. He takes away all the unnecessary things, like packaging and receipts, pushing those away and smiles at his purchases, once more going over their purpose in his mind.

 

“I hope you enjoy these, Mother,” he says loudly. Mjolnir is lying in the sand by his side and yet it feels almost impossible (so _heavy_ ) to raise his right hand, but he does so and curls his hand into fist with only his index finger protruding and with it he draws the runes he needs in the air.

 

He gets it on the first try this time. The pile bursts into flames and Thor smiles through his tears.

 

Valkyries are no gift-carriers, but he does hope they will make an exception for Frigga and for her son. And as his tears fall freely and he closes his eyes, he thinks he hears the whisper of wings.

 


End file.
